


Catharsis

by Laeviss



Category: World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Humiliation, M/M, Verbal Humiliation, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After reconciling on Draenor, Varian helps Garrosh act out his punishment fantasies. Written for the NSFW Prompt Challenge prompt 11: Dom/sub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> Everything Varian does to Garrosh is consensual, and agreed upon prior to the scene. Warning for blood, violence, abusive language, and discussions of public humiliation.

‘ _Crack_.’

A sting ripped across Garrosh’s back as the whip made contact. The tenth lash. Or was it the twelfth? He had lost track at some point, giving in to the burn of the leather and the welts he knew must be striping his skin. Like the tattoos he had once received, back when he believed he could do good and make his father proud. But he harbored none of those delusions now.

Another ‘ _crack_ ,’ and he slammed forward; bile rose in his throat. Squeezing his eyes closed, he listened to the jeers— a roar of human voices, shouts of ‘For Theramore,’ ‘You deserve this,’ ‘You monster,’ ‘You failure’—  rose in his mind like a storm, and all he could do was squeeze his eyes closed and pray the tears swimming in his eyes didn’t break loose. A wave of nausea hit, and he clenched his hands into fists. His shackles strained whenever he tried to move them.

“Worthless pig,” Varian spat. Even without being able to turn his head, Garrosh knew the king must be sneering. “We always knew you’d drive the Horde to ruin.”

Another ‘ _crack_ ’ hit before he had the chance to defend himself. Jaw gaping, words turned into a cry, a dribble of spit rolling down his chin. A tear soon joined it, and he winced, his nails grabbling for a hold on the rock.

“Thrall should have left you in Outlands when he had the chance.”

He could almost feel the crowd’s laughter; even through closed eyes, he imagined someone had reached for a clump of mud or horse droppings, and he waited for the splatter, the cheers: another reminder how much the world hated him. How much he deserved this. The wind tickled his naked body. His cock gave a twitch, but the splatter never came.

Because he wasn’t _in_ Stormwind.

He was in Nagrand, in a cave he and Varian used for their meetings. Furs and candles had been pushed aside for the night, making room for the stone that would serve as his whipping block and the mat he had brought to catch the blood. The shackles, however, were real: the same ones he had worn during the trial, while the crowd snapped and cursed like the fantasy he played out in his mind. Their cold bite was a constant reminder of where he had been. What he had done. And Varian’s warmth behind him—

“Hey.” The voice that came now was soft, concerned. The human’s hand trailed along his side as a trickle of blood rolled from the small of his back to the back of his thigh. Varian’s break in character gave Garrosh pause, and he struggled to lift his head.

“Yeah? What’s wrong?” He grunted; he was shocked by the strain in his words.

Varian’s thumb, careful to avoid his lashes, slid down to stroke his backside. “This is gonna scar, Garri...”

“Don’t care.” Another grunt, this time interrupted, in the end, by a gasp.

“I care.”

And at that, Garrosh knew, it was time to move on. Nodding, he listened as the whip fell to his side with a ‘clck,’ the grip on his side tightening even while the rest of the lashes— Seven? Or eight? Of the twenty they had planned— never came. Drawing in a breath, he enjoyed the sting of his wounds and the cool breeze licking the head of his cock: already wet with excitement. He slipped back into the fantasy. Varian grabbed his shoulder and jerked him around.

“Open your mouth.” He heard him snap; the arrogance, the curl of disgust on his lips and the narrowness of his eyes, had returned. The act was back on. “Can you even suck cock with those teeth?”

“Yes.” His reply was meek, and unnecessary. Of course Varian (or Lo’gosh, probably, at this point) knew he could suck cock— he had done so, willingly, many times, with all the care and caution he could manage. But this, too, was part of the game. He looked away, then added, even lower: “Let me show you.”

“Let me show you, what?”

“Let me show you, your Majesty. I—” With a swallow, he looked up at him; a tear rolled down his cheek, but this time, he found it difficult to care. Biting his upper lip, then quickly, deliberately, re-opening his mouth, he mumbled: “I owe it to you.”

His stomach sank as Varian’s eyes widened: he knew he was toeing the line. When they had planned this, the human had insisted on two things: No mentions of Anduin, no mentions of Theramore. Garrosh could think it, but Varian wouldn’t say it, and didn’t want to hear it, either.

There were some wounds, some topics, that hit too close— no matter how Garrosh felt, no matter how many nights he had paced his room, shaky and clammy at the knowledge of what he had done to _Varian’s son_ , that guilt could not be part of this game.

There were other ways to work through it: ways that didn’t involve Varian screaming or fucking his face. They both knew it, and Garrosh scrambled to make up for his error: “Because I failed, your Majesty. I failed the Horde, my people—”

“You failed everyone.” Varian looked relieved. Recovering, he gave Garrosh’s jaw a squeeze, and shook his mouth open. “All right. C’mon. No biting.”

“Yes.”

“Yes _what_?”

“—Your Majesty.”

“Good.” He gave another shake, then, reached down, unlatching his codpiece and opening the buttons of his pants. Reaching into the fly, he eased out his cock— still half-soft with the evidence of his concern, his concentration. A few strokes, however, changed that, and soon he was rubbing the head along Garrosh’s lower lip. “Good.” He murmured. “So obedient. You were never meant to be a leader, were you?”

“No, your Majesty.”

“If only the Horde could see you now,” the human all but purred; his cock dragged another line across Garrosh’s lip, and this time, he flicked his tongue out to meet it. A _moan_ — which may have been acting or genuine pleasure, or a combination thereof— escaped Varian’s lips, and he nudged the head inwards. “How easily you kneel. What would your clan say, Hellscream? If they saw you sucking the human king?”

The taunt drew out a snarl, low, all but muffled by Varian’s cock against his teeth. And then, even softer, a resigned “don’t care...” Every urge to fight was gone; all he wanted was to feel Varian using him, to taste him, to gasp around him and know Varian was doing this for him. Because he had asked for this, not because Varian wanted to hurt him. The human’s hand reached around to grip the back of his head, and he gave in. Teeth open, lips pursed, he waited in earnest for his lover to take the lead.

Which he did, without hesitation, this time. All at once, Varian sunk in: Inch after inch, until the head of his cock brushed the back of his throat and then, after a pause, slipped into it. Garrosh swallowed; he forced himself to relax. To focus.

He had done this before. He remembered how to accommodate the intrusion, drawing in a breath through his nose and willing himself to ignore the gag. Staring up into Varian’s eyes, he smiled around him, wordlessly urging him to move.

“You like that, don’t you?” It was as much of an honest remark as a tease, Garrosh realized, when Varian rubbing the back of his neck. He let the wideness of his eyes say what his mouth could not.

“Good,” Varian’s fingers gave another stroke, moving from the top of his neck to the sensitive skin of his ear. He trembled. Varian started to move. “What a good, polite little pig.”

The soft whine that rose in Garrosh’s throat died when the cock re-entered. His own erection throbbed and leaked against his thigh, and he relaxed, enjoying it. Letting Varian do with him whatever he pleased.

Every thrust made his knees scratch against the matting. Even as Varian held his head, clutching his ears and digging into his scalp, his lower body rocked. His hips bucked into the cool air. The sting of his wounds, now trying to clot, left his eyes teary and the corners of his mouth dripping with spit. Varian’s cock in his throat stole the breath from his lungs, and hazy— _welcome_ — passivity started to set in.

After a few moments, and one gag, which Varian quickly soothed with a caress to his cheek, the human seemed to find his pace. He thrust forward until Garrosh’s nose pressed against the waistband of his underwear and his tusks knocked against the sides of his pants, before rolling back, following much the same rhythm he used when fucking him elsewhere. And hopefully would use, again, before the night was over.

Garrosh blinked out another batch of tears. They rolled down his chin, splattering, ‘plt,’ against the rise and fall of his chest. Striping the dust left behind by the stone. A shudder overtook him. Varian thrust faster, digging his nails behind his ears and locking his jaw in place. There was only his cock, the pain, the dizziness. Words moaned and gasped between hitches in the human’s breath.

“Hmm, good. Garrosh,”  he used the orc’s language, for the first time that evening. His hips gave a sudden jerk. “Putting that mouth to good use.”

“Mrgh.” The sound vibrated low in the back of Garrosh’s throat, and Varian gasped.

“I might even use lube when I fuck you over that stone. See what happens when you behave?”

“Mmgh.” It was a choked, breathless reply, but Varian seemed to understand. He slammed down into it, hips quivering, pants tickling Garrosh’s nose and the piercing that hung below. Eyes wide, he smiled around him; his heart clenched with a grip that had nothing to do with fear.  

Of course, Garrosh knew Varian had never intended to fuck him dry. But it was just hearing him say it— the compliment, the reward, the reminder that Varian cared about him and his body and didn’t want harm to come to it— that made the game, his obedience, all the more worth it.

And soon, the human made good on his promise. All at once, his cock slid out of Garrosh’s mouth and his hands reached down to grab his waist. He flipped him over. Grabbing the chain holding the shackles together, he stretched his arms back over his head, and left his face to press against the dusty surface of the stone.

He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. When he opened them again, he realized his cheek was flush against the pitch black splatters of his own blood. He groaned. Varian’s fingers reached between his thighs, and, gripping firmly, spread his legs apart.

With his ass, slashed and stinging from the whip, now bruising under the pressure of Varian’s fingers, held high in the air, he felt himself blush. Sucking in a breath, he trembled; he focused on the thumb sliding between his cheeks and the click of a bottle opening behind him. On the oil, not blood, this time, that dribbled down to wet his opening. He felt vulnerable, but somehow _safe_. He yielded, relaxed, and waited. His ragged breath started to even.

But then, Varian was inside him: No fingers, no toy to stretch him, just his cock rubbing against his hole and then sinking in— not fast, but steady— until he was full. A cry formed on his lips, only to be cut short by a dusty cough as he inhaled too quickly.  
Varian reached forward, stroking his head, then pressing his face back into the stone. “Fuck, Garrosh...” It was a low sound, drawn out by the roll of his hips and the long exhale that followed on its heels, and all Garrosh could do was whimper.

Varian’s pants muffled the sound of their thighs slapping together, but the grunts— both of their grunts— more than made up for it. Varian’s left hand dug into his hip while his right slid down to touch his chest: stroking along his abdomen, tracing over the scars, and then, suddenly, catching the ring through his nipple and giving it a tug. Garrosh moaned and drooled onto the stone. Varian’s cock slammed in, and with it, his body jerked forward. Tusks scratched rock, and tears blinked out to wet and streak the blood-spattered surface beneath him.

Varian’s other hand moved forward; free from its grip, Garrosh tried to roll back his hips. To meet the thrusts halfway. But Varian stopped him. Hand splayed out across his pelvis, he let out a growl, and forced him back to steady. His voice sneered in his ear, “Getting eager, are you? To be fucked into the ground by your enemy? I should have known.”

They were both eager, of course they were eager. But the way Varian said it— so vulgar, with a sharp ferocity that betrayed Lo’gosh’s involvement— made him flush and groan. And if that weren’t enough, the words that followed had him _gasping_ into unyielding stone.

“Would you moan like this if I had you bent over my throne? If I fucked you in front of a crowd of humans cheering my name?”

It was a fantasy he had once explained to Varian, one he kept coming back to: at night in his fortress, with nobody to hear him whimper into his pillow. Hearing it now, with the human buried inside of him and his body sprawled out to be taken, left him completely undone. He opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t, for once, find the words.

Which Varian seemed to sense, and understand. Biting Garrosh’s shoulder, he slid his hand from his pelvis, through the hair, and down to wrap around the base of his cock. And Garrosh _shuddered_. His shackled arms jolted on reflex and his cock twitched under Varian’s palm. He was so hard, so _ready_ for this, and every touch threatened to drive him over the edge.

After a few strokes up his shaft— firm, drawn out, in rhythm with his thrusts— Varian hooked his finger through the ring through his slit and gave it a yank. And that was all Garrosh could handle. The sting, sharp, almost _excruciating_ , drove him past thought, past control. And all he could feel was Varian’s touch: the cock dragging against his prostate and the palm stroking once, twice, pressing his foreskin forward and spurring him to completion. His entire body tensed.

Shaking, giving into the tension, he threw back his head, and cried out in a voice far higher than his own: “Varian!”

There was another stroke, then a splatter, then Varian’s arm was around his throat.

The human’s body pressed flush against him: chest to back, mouth against Garrosh’s ear. The only movement his hips rocking and slamming into Garrosh’s ass. Still riding the wave of his release, Garrosh heard another splatter, then another, yielding to aftershocks and the force of Varian pressing deep inside. And then, with a yell, the human surrounded him; hips jerked, breath stopped, and the mouth against his jaw fell slack with a hard-won cry. Their bodies shuddered together. Varian held him, and, for a moment, fell limp against his back.

And then.

“Fucking shit—” Varian— no, definitely Lo’gosh— let out a laugh against his neck: breathy, strained, but satisfied. And then, nuzzling him, with his cock still buried inside, he murmured. “You’re so fucking hot, you know. So fucking good.”

Garrosh flushed. In the wake of his orgasm, memories of his pleading, his submission, awareness of the tears and spit still wetting his face, started to sink in. For a moment, he felt ashamed, but then Varian pressed another kiss to his neck.

The human reached down to unlatch the shackles. Sliding out of Garrosh, he moved to lay by his side. “You doing okay, though?”

“Yeah.” He said, without hesitation; there was no hint of lie or feigned confidence in his voice as he turned to wrap his arms around Varian’s waist. “Yeah. Yes. Thank y—”

But Varian caught him, stopped him, before he could flip around. Keeping him on his side, he wrapped him in a tight embrace while putting distance between his back and the stone. “Need to get your wounds cleaned and dressed first,” he reminded him, then added, much quieter. “It’s pretty bad. I’m sorry.”

Glancing down at the evidence of his injuries— black streaks on the mat, the dirt, and now on Varian’s chest— he shook his head, and gave him another kiss. “You did what I asked for. Don’t apologize.”

“And you feel better now?” Varian’s nose nuzzled against his cheek, paying no heed to the dust and tears that dirtied it. And with an exhale, Garrosh closed his eyes, and relaxed, all but slumped, into his arms.

The memory of what he had done— his mistakes, his tyranny, the lives that he had ruined and those who wanted nothing more than to see him dead— would never go away. And shouldn’t. He knew that. No matter how much they hurt, he needed them: to try to make sense of his flaws and the years he had squandered to ruin.

But with Varian’s arms around him, and his lips pressed against his cheek, the self-loathing was gone. Whether for a few moments, or the rest of his life, he couldn’t say.

And there, battered, aching, and limp against Varian’s chest, he felt okay.


End file.
